


Aftermath of Destruction

by VeryLateTrash



Category: Phantom of the Opera
Genre: Aftermath of fire, Angst, Could be interpreted of Erik x Nadir, Cute, Dissociation, F/M, Fire, Hurt/Comfort, I love the Daroga, M/M, Sad, he's so soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-19
Updated: 2018-01-19
Packaged: 2019-03-06 18:13:01
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,349
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13416807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeryLateTrash/pseuds/VeryLateTrash
Summary: Where does Erik go after the Final Lair? After his home is burned down? Of course, to the Daroga's place, who is all too welcoming to him. Short fluff and some angst.





	Aftermath of Destruction

Erik is lost in the flames of the Opera House. His heart aches as he watches the love of his life, the woman who captured his heart since the first time he heard her sing, row away with a fine, rich young Vicomte. He watches, silently, as a ghost should be, as his Opera House is destroyed. Flames rise and eat at the statues that line the walls, intricate paintings and carvings being destroyed and deteriorated. His eyes flicker with the fire, flicker as the furious flames feast upon the fine art, and upon flesh. He remains unaffected by the beasts dining hungrily on his home. He had been the one to build this place into what it is. He alone sought out the materials to turn a sewer underneath a grand Opera into a dwelling, more fit to be inside a manor. The grandeur of this place was indeed spectacular. Erik had been the one to find large cuts of stone and Erik had been the one to chip at it, piece by piece, stone by stone, day by endless day, to create masterpieces that aligned the entryway. He, alone, alone, alone, taught himself how to stitch designs into fabric. He decorated his home to be among the finest of them all. He created wax models of a house he wished to have for himself and her. He worked endlessly, though there were breaks for tea and piano, to mold this place into what he wanted it to be. Not for himself, no not really, but for her.   
Erik's eyes reflected the fire, though the passion was sucked out of his soul.   
He turned, finally, away from the destruction of his home, his life.  
He left through the door he'd made in his mirror, seeing with ease in the dark. His eyes shone that odd bright yellow he was born with. He supposed his deformity gave him at least that, being his exceptional sight.  
He escaped the Opera house, lip trembling still. He'd let her go. No reason to start regretting it now. At least his angel would be able to soar now, though a darker, bitter part of him reminded himself that he was the reason she got to be a star. He was the one who taught her everything she knew.  
Erik realised he was gritting his teeth, and tried to relax. He calmed himself down again, slipping into the shadows of the city. For a moment or two, he had no idea where to go. His home was slowly burning to ashes, and he had noone to...Erik clicked his tongue. Ah, of course. Erik took a sharp turn, heading down to the one person he always seemed to be able to rely on, even more so than Christine. Of course, Erik knew him before Christine.  
Erik heard Ayesha mew, waking up from her sleep. He was surprised that she'd slept through the fire, though he considered that she had always been able to sleep on his organ in the middle of his playing.  
Erik lifted the hand that wasn't holding her to pet her under her chin. She purred, earning a quiet sigh from him.   
He retracted his hand from her, to which she glared up at him, "Everyone's a critic," Erik muttered to himself as he used his free hand to knock on the Daroga's door.  
Erik tapped his foot impatiently. He was a fugitive now; policemen were hunting him down, and it brought a sick feeling to his stomach. He hated being out in the open like this even more than usual. Luckily, -though is anything really lucky for him?- it was night, and therefore he was less likely to be seen.   
The Daroga answered his door, rubbing his eyes groggily, letting out a, "Yes?" He then looked up to see Erik, "Erik, my friend, why are you out in the open like this?"  
Erik frowned deeper, and replied, sighing, "The story of tonight is a long one that I'd rather explain in the warmth of your home, Nadir."  
Nadir looked upon Erik with a slight surprise, and steeping aside to let Erik inside, "I must say I forgot that you knew my place of residence." Nadir paused to take in Erik's appearance. "You even brought your kitten! What a story this must be," the Daroga gave him a pleasant smile. He approached Erik and gently took Ayesha in his arms, petting her until she was fully resting in his arms.  
Erik took off his hat, sitting down in one of Nadir's velvet chairs. He felt the Daroga watching him, and snapped his gaze up, "Must you insist on watching me so intensely?"  
Nadir simply gave off a quiet laugh, "I only wish for you to explain what brought you here, not that I mind the company."  
Erik sighed deeply. He set his elbow on the soft arm of Nadir's chair, resting his head in the palm of his hand, "I'd gone mad with love for her, haven't I, Daroga?" Erik was frowning, tears of the night beginning to catch up to him, "She was my everything, and I was losing her, so I took her; I caught her and tried to keep her, but she did not return my love. She was appalled by my appearance, and sang a song of hatred for my personality. I heard her on the rooftops: 'Can I ever escape a face so distorted, deformed', she proclaimed to the little twat. Then she says that my voice makes her spirit soar." Erik was clenching and unclenching his free hand, "She loved me, but she hated my face. This is why she chose that beautiful boy of hers.  
"And, then when I had her tonight, she told me she despised me because of the darkness in my soul. But-" Erik felt the tears drip from his eyes, though they couldn't fall, as his mask was tight enough to his face that they couldn't fall over his cheeks or mask, simply stuck on the ridge of the eye cut outs of his mask. He lifted the wretched, valuable item from his face, letting the wetness slide over his deformed flesh, "-before she left with de Chagny, she kissed me." Erik was falling into hysterics as he relived this particular moment. He clutched at his chest, "She kissed Erik, and he felt alive." Erik brought his hands to his face, holding the palms at his eyes, "Erik felt more alive that he had in so long."  
Nadir stood, placing Ayesha down on his couch, and walked over to Erik, placing a caring hand on his bony, angled shoulder, "Erik, you're dissociating again. Take a breath."  
Erik didn't cringe at the sudden physical contact as he usually did-Lord, he would even stiffen uncomfortably when Christine laid an unexpected hand on him. Perhaps it was because of how long he'd known the Daroga, or perhaps it was because he had such a gentle nature and was somehow always upbeat.  
Erik responded well to the help from Nadir, and managed to look him in the eye, something that he was still training himself to do, "Thank you, Monsieur. Eri-" he caught himself, "... I needed this today."   
Nadir responded with a warm smile, "It's never a burden, Erik. I'll go make tea, and then see if I can find a bed long enough for your height." He meant to tease, but Erik knew this to be true.   
The Daroga left to his kitchen, and Erik slumped back against the chair. Despite the Daroga's kind words, he did feel like a heavy burden. It's amazing how he can be so proud, and yet so self hating at once.  
He pondered as to how he'd found a friend in Nadir. Of course, Erik could tell express the gratitude he felt toward the Persian, but he felt it was better left unsaid.  
Erik stood, stooping down as he walked through the entryway to the kitchen, "Ah, Earl Grey. Thank you; I hate it." This was Erik's strange way of showing his thanks. (Nadir understood it fully.)


End file.
